Morning of my second day, Redeyes summons me into his cabin, where the inner sanctum of the caboose is holding court and presiding over bottles of rice wine. Redeyes invites me to drink with them and, seeing my hesitation, he declares, “We are all friends here. Our lives are simple. We don’t have much but we are friends. And friends drink and eat together. Are we your friends?” He need not say more. They are still debating whether to take me all the way to Hanoi and risk running afoul of the cops at the inspection station north of Hue. I need their friendship more than they need my money. At
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